


Speaking Fandom

by grey2510



Series: Misc SPN One Shots (<10k words) [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: British Men of Letters, Carver Edlund books, Coda (kinda), Gen, POV Outsider, Post-Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, Shipping mentioned but not a focus, Supernatural book series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: After a long day taking care of supernatural threats to the city of London, all Man of Letters Tom Hopkins wants to do when he gets home is to not talk about work. Unfortunately, he makes the mistake of asking his daughter what she's reading...Based on this post where we realize that the British Men of Letters might actually know less about the Winchesters than the fans of Carver Edlund's masterpiece series.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [awed_frog](http://archiveofourown.org/users/awed_frog/pseuds/awed_frog/works) for her help beta-ing for me. Check out her work if you haven't already -- she's amazing!!

“You hear they had to send Mick over to rein in Bevell?”

Hopkins shakes his head at Okoye’s question, but looks up from the warding he’s fixing on the bridge; bloody vampire had managed to break the sigil and let his two friends in before the back-up ward located about ten metres away had been set off.

Okoye crosses her arms and leans back against the black van where the three vampires are tied up and sedated with dead man’s blood, awaiting transport to where they will be...disposed of.

“Bevell go off her rocker again with those Winchesters?” Hopkins asks, rolling his eyes.

Bevell’s good, always has been, but if someone would take the stick out of her arse, the world would be a great deal better, in his humble opinion. Okoye had been almost gleeful—well, as gleeful as she ever gets—when Bevell had been sent to the States.

(”Lord, I hope someone tries to make her eat a greasy diner burger,” Okoye had muttered to Hopkins when they’d heard the news at the meeting. “Be nice, _Agnes_ ,” Hopkins had answered, fully expecting the elbow to his stomach from Okoye for daring to use her much despised first name, and grateful that his own name, Tom, is fairly inoffensive, if boringly common.)

Shrugging, Okoye gives him a look that clearly conveys, _Well, what did you expect._ Hopkins silently agrees, and finishes the ward. It flares golden for a second, indicating it has been returned to full power. Hopkins jumps down from the concrete pylon he’d clambered up to reach the sigil, and in moments, he and Okoye are off to the Cleaners with their cargo.

By the time Hopkins returns to the frankly overpriced two-bedroom flat he rents—because of course Kate had gotten the house in the divorce and he can’t very well stash his daughter on the sofa on the weekends he has custody—he’s exhausted and would like nothing more than a pint and a few hours of peace and quiet to watch football; he’s missed the last few matches, what with that business with the sun almost dying and no one having any bloody clue what to do about it—the Apocalypse was supposed to be _over_ for Chrissakes, and even if it weren’t, these past few months hardly fit the same lore and patterns, and well...he just wants to watch football, is that a crime?  

But, the aforementioned sofa is currently filled with the sprawling limbs of his sixteen-year-old, who is nose-deep in what he’s sure is one of those teen paranormal romance stories. He shudders, thinking of Maddie’s _Twilight_ phase. Never mind the inaccuracies regarding the lore (sparkly vampires? really?), the writing had just been _bad._ He’s still bitter at Kate for making him read them in an effort to connect with their teen. Although, in a mind-numbing and soul-crushing way, it had worked: at least the two of them had understood what the hell Maddie was going on about when she declared she was on Team Jacob and that the Renesmee thing was just so _wrong_ (he couldn’t argue with her on that one).

In any case, the universe apparently has a hilarious sense of humor in that he and Kate had both decided not to involve their daughter in the world of the Men of Letters, or at least wait until she turns eighteen and can make up her own mind (Kate herself is a legacy, and oh, the scandal when she’d told her father she’d rather be a maths teacher), and yet, Maddie is _obsessed_ with the genre in fiction.

Maybe they should tell her the truth, just so she doesn’t accidentally end up summoning a demon while rp-ing, or whatever it’s called, with her friends online.

(He speaks six languages, two of which are dead and pre-Biblical, but apparently, he’s too old and dorky—Maddie’s words—to understand Fandom.)

Figuring he might be able to swing both parental bonding and football watching all at once, he stops by the kitchen to grab a beer, then returns to the living room. He whacks Maddie’s feet playfully, but instead of sitting up or retreating her gangly legs to the other end of the sofa, she simply lifts them, her eyes never leaving the book. He sighs, and takes the somewhat offered space; Maddie’s feet fall back onto his thighs. Kicking his own feet up on the coffee table, he flicks on the telly, switching over to the match.

“It’s too loud,” Maddie comments, and Hopkins sighs, but lowers the volume a little.

An injury on the field—a real one, not someone faking just to get the play to stop (nasty scuffle over the ball twisting a knee in a direction it certainly isn’t supposed to go)—means a lull in the game, and so he takes the opportunity to talk to his daughter.

The cover of the book looks like a bad mash-up of a Stephen King novel and a pulpy romance. A creepy leafless tree is half-blocking an exceptionally full moon, and actual Jack-O-Lanterns grin evilly from the side. There’s even a practically shirtless Fabio wannabe in front of a black beast of a car, but instead of a lovely damsel in distress, PseudoFabio is next to a Mr. I’m Totally Not Trying To Prove Anything By Being Super Butch.

Hm. Not exactly what he was expecting, but Hopkins isn’t going to judge. It is 2016, after all.   

“So, what’re you reading, sweetheart?” he asks.

She doesn’t respond, so he nudges her right under the knee, knowing that she’s extremely ticklish there. She curls up her legs in defense, but he catches her smile from behind the book. Sitting up with her back to the armrest, she crosses her legs and puts a finger in the book to hold her place.

“I was just getting to the _good_ part. They just discovered the art teacher is actually a witch and he and his sister are trying to raise this super old demon…" Maddie complains, but then stops. “I don’t want to spoil it for you, in case you read it.”

“It’s ok. So who’re they?” Hopkins replies, indicating the men on the cover. “They the new Bella and Edward?”

Maddie scrunches up her nose. “Ugh, _no._ They’re _brothers._ I mean, there are some people who ship them, like there’s this one fangirl who goes by Becky online and she writes _loads_ of stuff about them and claims she knows or knew the author or whatever. And I mean, yeah, the brothers are super close, but I’m definitely not a Sam/Dean girl. I’m not done with the series, but from what I’ve read so far, I kind of like the idea of Destiel—”

“Sam and Dean…?” Something cold settles in his stomach.

“Yeah. Those are the brothers. They don’t have a last name in the books, but Becky claims it’s Winchester, says she got the insider scoop or something.” Hopkins’ jaw is dropping and that cold something settling in his stomach feels heavier and heavier. “Anyway, ever since they were kids and their mom died, they’ve been hunting monsters and ghosts and demons, and they drive around in their dad’s ‘67 Chevy Impala—well, it was their dad’s, but it turns out Dean actually convinced his dad to get it back in 1973 because he time-traveled there—but now it turns out that Sam and Dean are all part of the _Apocalypse_ , and there’s _angels_ in the series now. Like this one angel raised Dean from _Hell_. His name’s—"

“Cassiel,” Hopkins says, hollowly.

Maddie stops, blinks. “Castiel, actually. How’d you know?”

Hopkins doesn’t answer, but snatches the book from his daughter’s hands. “Where did you get this? There’s a whole _series_?”

“Um, yeah. I heard about them on Tumblr because apparently SuperWhoLock was this big deal a few years ago, and I like _Doctor Who_ and _Sherlock_ , so I figured I should probably...Dad, you ok?”

“Show me the series.”

“I only have this book with me,” Maddie answers, looking a little frightened. “The rest are at Mum’s. But I can show you online?”

“They’re online?” He had been fairly confident a few moments ago that he’s sitting securely on a sofa, but somehow it feels more and more like the furniture and floor are slipping away from him and he’s sinking very quickly.

“Yeah, there’s a whole fandom and everything. There’s even been a few conventions, and I guess this one school in the States did a musical version of the books and _Carver Edlund_ actually _showed up_.”  

Maddie gets up and goes into her bedroom, returning with the laptop he and her mother had both chipped in for last Christmas. A few clicks, and then she hands the computer to him. There are two tabs open. The first one is for Amazon, where he sees reviews and Kindle editions of the series, and his brain feels like it’s trying to crawl through five feet of mud. Maddie reaches over and clicks the second tab.

“This is Tumblr. But, um, not my dashboard or anything.” Maddie’s cheeks colour, and on any other day, he’d probably want to know just what his daughter is hiding or looking at online. “This is just the general _Supernatural_ tag.” She starts to scroll, then freezes, grabs the laptop back, types in something quickly, then hands it back. “Sorry. I, uh, blocked some stuff.”

There’s artwork of the characters. There’s post after post after post dissecting the books. “That’s all meta,” she explains, and again, he wishes he spoke Fandom. “There’s also fanfics and stuff, too, but…"

She trails off, looking a little uncomfortable, but he ignores her for the moment.

It’s all there. The entire saga of the Winchesters. He clicks back to the Amazon tab, reading through the book descriptions. Their origin story. Their early cases. Dean going to Hell. Sam and Ruby. The archangels. The Apocalypse.

“Oh bloody hell…" he stammers out. _How could we have missed this?_

Lurching up and nearly losing the laptop in the process, he grabs his phone from the kitchen table and calls up Okoye’s number.

They are so bloody screwed.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little one-shot, but I hope you enjoyed it. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


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